Belle’s been gone for about ten days now on her trip and doesn’t get back until day after tomorrow. Usually, when she’s gone, I get kinda rabidly horny and, perhaps not coincidentally, sleep gets harder to find. But, except for just one night about a week ago, I’ve been sleeping well on this trip. And, until the past few days, I haven’t been all that horny.
But WOW all of a sudden. I guess it may have started on Friday. I had a massage scheduled and, as usual, I was locked up. I busted out my emergency key and got all the way undressed for the rubbing and laid face-down on the warm table. The masseuse I see is incredible. About the best I’ve ever had. Chief among his attributes, besides his strong hands, is how he happily works my glutes. Once the shoulders and back are done, he lifts the heavy sheet up exposing one whole leg to the waist and tucks it under. Then he goes to town. Oh, mama, does he.
And, honestly, I’m helpless. There’s just no way I’m going to be able to lay there impassively as he rubs my ass and runs his stong hand along the crease of my ass cheek and down my inner thigh (and I may have gotten him to do that a bit more by complaining of a sore hamstring). He must get within a half inch of my balls when he does that. Whimper, for fuck’s sake. So he does each leg in turn then asks me to flip over. Then asks me to flip over. I let myself enjoy the first side and my mind wanders and things do what they’re supposed to do but when he switches to the other side I have to start thinking about taxes or something. I mean, I know that errant boners are a professional inevitability for someone in his field and I’m not going to lose any sleep showing a bit of chub through the sheet as he’s sitting up by my head to work my shoulders and neck, but I don’t want to be pitching a fucking tent. Friday, I was somewhere in between. The hard-on wouldn’t have been elevated above my stomach had it been exposed, but it was definitely…there. And then he does this thing right at the end where he pushes down on my hips and rubs the top of my thighs through the sheet and he get’s really close to the package. If I were a normal boy, I’d probably wank one out in the bathroom before heading over there but I’m not so I don’t.
But I was good. I put the Steelheart back on as I dressed, but the shadowy nature of the room and the slight rush I was under trying to beat the erection that was rapidly developing had me put it on wrong in a way I don’t think I’ve ever done before. Usually, the PA fixing goes through the PA ring but I missed that somehow so the PA wasn’t secure. I had no idea until Sunday night when I realized the discomfort I was feeling in there was due to the PA fixing pushing the PA ring in ways it’s not supposed to. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to take the Steelheart off since Belle wanted me locked but it was heading in a direction where things were going to be hurt if I didn’t address it. In fact, there were already sore spots developing that I know from experience need to be allowed to breath more than they get to in the solid tube. The solution was pretty obvious.
Since I still had the key (no numbered tag being provided before Belle left and me being unable to find one), I simply switched to the Looker 02. So that’s where I am today. A day or so should be enough to be able to get back into the Steelheart and, since that’s Belle’s favorite and the one she left me in, I’ll swap back into that tomorrow morning.
So I felt the horniness growing over the weekend. Sunday I woke up and groped and clawed at the Steelheart in that way. This morning I was able to have some quality alone time with just me and a few carefully chosen inanimate objects and was left sweaty and panting and significantly distracted. Cruising the Nifty Archives and finding a story that hits all kinds of my buttons hard didn’t help. Or maybe it did. Depends on your perspective, I guess.
Being the exceptionally well-trained and obedient rabbit that I am, I never entertained any ideas of using the key and letting myself out. Even though I could warp my almost-injury into a valid excuse. Because if I had, I know I’d eventually have my hand wrapped around the hard penis and then I’d feel worse than rabidly horny. I’d feel guilt. Guilt isn’t sexy. Not in the slightest.